


Building a Gilded Cage

by Meicdon13



Series: Menagerie [1]
Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Non-Chronological, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meicdon13/pseuds/Meicdon13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homura is part of the village’s head family, worshipped by the people as a deity. Nii is his childhood companion and personal retainer. It’s a very complicated relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building a Gilded Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rroselavy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/gifts).



> Prompt was, “Homura/Nii - Stockholm syndrome :-D,” from Rroselavy.
> 
> The prompt ran away from me. There’s not much Stockholm syndrome going on, sorry ;___; And I may have butchered the Jade Emperor’s formal RL titles while trying to come up with a name for Homura’s uncle and clan. Thanks to Whymzycal for agreeing to go over this for me ;___; I touched this last, so any remaining mistakes are mine.

[ _14 years old_ ]

“Why would anyone think that you’re bad luck?” Houmei asks. Something tells Ken’yuu that he’s not making fun of him, that Houmei is actually genuinely curious and confused. It makes him like Houmei just a little bit more.

“They say that bad things keep happening around me.” Ken’yuu shrugs and continues putting Homura’s books back on the shelf. “And you know how people are scared of smarter people. They just don’t understand how my mind works.” The last part, Ken’yuu tries to make it sound like he’s joking, but really, that’s how he feels. He knows he’s smarter than practically everyone else he’s ever met, has read all of Homura’s books twice over.

He moves to the next shelf and Houmei moves with him, arms holding a stack of novels that Ken’yuu picks up and dusts one by one before setting back in their proper places. They work in silence for a few more minutes, until Houmei smiles serenely at Ken’yuu and says, “You should change your name.”

Ken’yuu pauses, book in his hand halfway to the shelf, resumes moving. “What did you have in mind?”

“Did you know that some people think ravens are bad luck?”

* * *

[ _10 years old_ ]

Ken’yuu huddles underneath the low-hanging branches of the tree and wraps his arms around his knees. The boughs are wide enough and leafy enough to keep most of the rain at bay, but the steady drip of cold water against his skin still drives home the fact that he’s lost in the dark in a storm.

The clothes he’s wearing are thin and soaked. He’s pretty sure he’s going to wake up with a fever, at least a cold. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten, and the only reason he isn’t shivering is because he’s too weak to do much aside from keep himself from falling over.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running and hiding, trying to keep ahead of the villagers chasing after him. He thinks it’s ridiculous, the amount of effort they’re putting into catching him, but maybe he’s stolen one too many loaves of bread or blocks of cheese or pastries cooling beside open windows for them to leave him alone this time.

Anger pounds through his veins, giving him the strength to curl his numb hands into fists. Do those idiots think that he _wants_ to live like this? A hand-to-mouth existence is hardly his ideal life. But no cares how smart you are or how much potential you have if they see you as an omen of bad luck.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by the sound of running feet nearby. They’re not heavy enough to belong to the people after him, but Ken’yuu still scrambles to stand up, bashing his head against a low branch. He squints, tries to see despite his eyes filling with tears and the rain. Not for the first time, he wishes that he still had his eyeglasses with him.

He tries to be quiet as he looks for a better hiding spot, moves away from whoever’s making a racket behind him. Ken’yuu hurries when he can start hearing the other person muttering angrily, panics when his bare foot gets caught in something. He trips, hands flying up to cover his mouth, still not making a sound even as he’s knocked out by the impact of his head on the ground.

* * *

[ _15 years old_ ]

Ukoku neatly lays out Homura’s clothes at the foot of the bed. He can still hear the shower in the bathroom, and he rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to call out and ask Homura if he has any plans to come out of there while they’re both still young. If any of the other staff saw him, they’d be outraged at such disrespectful behavior. Homura just thinks it’s funny.

He sits on Homura’s bed, beside the clothes, looks at how intricately embroidered the robes are, absent-mindedly runs his fingers over the silk of the pants. He’s always wanted to ask Homura why he bothers dressing up in such finery when they barely leave the west wing of the main house. The people who come here to pay their respects and give offerings, there’s always a screen between them and Homura. They can barely hear his voice from across the room, let alone see him.

There’s a knock on the door. Ukoku quickly gets up from the bed, but it slides open before he can reach it. Koumyou stands in the doorway, holding a pair of black slippers. “Miss Hwang asked me to give these to you.”

“I knew I forgot something,” Ukoku says, grinning. “Thanks.”

Koumyou hands him the slippers, shrugs. “She thinks you left these behind on purpose.” Ukoku doesn’t say anything, just smiles, but the amused look on Koumyou’s face says that he knows.

“Koumyou.”

Homura is standing behind Ukoku, a towel wrapped around his waist and another around his shoulders. Ukoku curses himself silently, wonders why he didn’t notice the sound of the water stop.

Koumyou immediately bows, eyes on the floor. “Young master. I brought you your slippers. Please excuse my intrusion into your quarters.” At Homura’s dismissive wave, he straightens up, eyes still averted, and exits the room. The door quietly slides shut.

Ukoku gets rid of the frown on his face before he turns around to face Homura. He doesn’t say anything as he helps him get dressed. He does notice, however, the way that Homura’s lips are pressed together, until his mouth looks like a thin slash across his face. More and more often, that’s the look he gets when he sees Koumyou.

“Your uncle’s meeting with the head of the merchants’ association today,” Ukoku says, just to break the silence. “He said that you’re supposed to join them.” The look that crosses Homura’s face is anything but excited.

“What’s the head merchant’s name?” Homura asks.

“I don’t know. I just know he’s the fat guy who looks like a goat.” That gets an amused chuckle from Homura.

Ukoku helps him put on his clothes, Homura’s slender shoulders disappearing beneath and bearing the weight of the heavy ceremonial robes. Homura’s around Ukoku’s age, might even be a bit younger, but the clothes make him look much older and paler. From trying them on once when Homura was asleep and he was bringing his clothes to the laundry room, Ukoku knows that they’re itchy and hot. From having to tie and untie it, he knows that the complicated knot that the belt has to be tied with is really hard to undo and that Homura doesn’t really go to the bathroom during the day. From having to rub Homura’s feet every night, Ukoku knows that the slippers he wears are tight and uncomfortable even if Homura doesn’t do anything except sit for most of the day.

Ukoku opens the door for Homura and closes it after him. He walks a step behind Homura, idly watches the hem of the robes swirl around his ankles. He ignores the maid they pass in the hallway, watches out of the corner of his eye as she practically falls over in her haste to bow.

When they reach the room where Homura’s uncle and the merchant are waiting, Ukoku opens the side door for him. They enter, hidden from view by a large screen, both sides decorated with paintings of cranes picking their way across weedy riverbanks. It’s a pretty enough thing, but Ukoku’s stopped appreciating the lacquered wooden frame and the delicate silk of the screen pretty soon after he found out how hard it was to maintain and carry around.

Ukoku can’t see Homura’s uncle or the merchant, which is the point, he supposes, but he can hear the pause in their conversation when they hear the side door opening. Once Homura is settled down on the many cushions spread out across the floor, Ukoku steps around to the front of the screen. Homura’s uncle, Yu Huang, and the merchant are sitting on cushions of their own. Ukoku bows towards Yu Huang, the signal that Homura’s ready to start. Yu Huang waves his hand listlessly, and Ukoku steps back so that he’s just a little to the right of the screen and he can see both Homura and the men.

The merchant bows deeply, enough that his forehead is pressed against the floor. “Oh great and powerful war prince, it is an honor to be allowed into your presence.”

Ukoku tunes out the rest of the merchant’s speech about how humbling it was to be allowed to step foot into the compound, eyes staring at the far wall. Safely out of view behind the screen, Homura’s already lying down among the pillows and almost halfway asleep.

It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

[ _12 years old_ ]

Ken’yuu watches the rabbit nibbling on the lettuce leaf he’d snuck from the kitchens, idly stroking the top of its head with a finger. He’s in the small private gardens outside of Homura’s rooms, lying on his stomach on the grass, sneaking in a few moments with his new pet while Homura’s taking a nap.

If Hwang knew about the rabbit, she would probably tell him to get rid of it. Pets were allowed in the compound, but something told Ken’yuu that he wasn’t going to be allowed to have one. After he was taken into the household, his whole life revolved around seeing to Homura’s needs.

But this rabbit, it’s something that’s _his_ , Ken’yuu’s, and he’s going to keep it as long as he wants and take care of it and make sure that nothing happens to it. Every time he grabs a bit of leafy vegetable from the kitchen to feed Bunny, every time he goes into the garden and plays with him, every time he tucks Bunny away in his hiding place, it’s a revolt against his stifling new existence.

Ken’yuu sits up when he feels an unexpected breeze blow across the gardens. For a moment he freezes, thinks he hears the rustle of cloth. He glances at the porch behind him, but the door’s still closed. He tells himself to relax, that it’s just the sound of the wind in the leaves, and turns back to face Bunny.

The next day, Ken’yuu can barely focus on his duties. Bunny’s gotten sick—he won’t eat or drink anything, and he’s not moving much. He zones out during the daily audience with the village’s people, jerks out of his thoughts only when Homura snaps his fingers impatiently in front of him.

“I said I was hungry,” Homura says, softly. Somewhere in the background, Ken’yuu can hear a villager babbling about his problems, how he hopes that the wise and benevolent war prince would see fit to bless his crops for the next harvest. Ken’yuu hurries to the kitchens to get Homura something to eat.

It takes Bunny three days to get better. Ken’yuu doesn’t think about how distracted he’s gotten. He’s not _attached_ , but he’s invested a lot of time and effort in him. It would be a shame to lose him. It would be a slight against his ego if he failed at something as simple as taking care of a rabbit.

One week after, Ken’yuu sneaks into the garden shed. Homura’s taking a nap again, and it had been a particularly irritating day. He peeks into the corner where he’d made a makeshift pen for Bunny between the wall and the back of a cabinet.

There’s nothing there.

Ken’yuu sits quietly at the table during dinner. He doesn’t interact with any of the other servants, which is usual for him, but he’s pale and he seems more closed off than usual. The meat tonight is rabbit. Hwang places a plate in front of him and squeezes his shoulder.

* * *

[ _14 years old_ ]

“Why don’t you just leave, then?” Koumyou asks.

Ukoku thinks of all the books he’d have to leave behind if he did decide to leave. He thinks of the large library with its plush chairs and stacks of books that can’t fit onto the towering shelves. It’s the knowledge he’ll miss the most if he decides to leave, not the roof over his head or the warm bed at night.

What Ukoku doesn’t think of is this: he doesn’t think of the way Homura’s hands press against his skin in the dark, of the way his breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and the back of his neck. He doesn’t think of the sardonic smile that crosses Homura’s face when someone trips over themselves in their hurry to bow to him. The lonely look that he gets when he thinks nobody is looking. Ukoku doesn’t think of how he knows all of Homura’s little tics and strengths and quirks and weaknesses and how he could manipulate things so he can become the real power behind Homura’s metaphorical throne. He could, if he wanted to.

Part of Ukoku wants to look at Koumyou, but a larger part is afraid of what he’ll see if he does. Instead, he says, “It’s not that easy.” Even to his own ears it sounds hollow.

For a while Koumyou doesn’t say anything. Ukoku looks up when Koumyou places a hand on his, his expression closed off and serene. Koumyou tilts his head and asks, “Do you want to make a bet?”

* * *

[ _11 years old_ ]

Hwang isn’t that old, but her perpetually sour expression adds years to her face. When Ken’yuu talks to her, he calls her ‘Miss Hwang,’ but in his head, there’re honorifics attached to her name. Whenever she’s looking at him, he makes sure his expression is completely neutral. Sometimes he lets it edge on ‘bored’ when he feels like testing his boundaries, which is often.

As far as Ken’yuu can tell, she’s the only youkai in the entire Xuanling compound. He has lessons with her every day, from the moment he finishes breakfast and bath in the morning, up until right before dinner. Nighttime is the time when Homura gets Ken’yuu to himself.

For the past year, he’s spent his entire day with Homura, playing when Homura wanted to play, doing whatever Homura told him to do to keep him entertained. Learning how to take care of Homura’s needs, it’s really not that much more difficult. At least he’s not just staring off into space when Homura doesn’t feel like making him act stupid when he’s bored.

Today’s lesson is learning how to cook Homura’s meals, how to prepare and present them just the way he likes them. Hwang shows Ken’yuu how to hold the knife, how to hold the vegetables, demonstrates how to chop the greens. Her hand moves so fast that it looks like a blur against the chopping board. She corrects Ken’yuu’s grip, nods once in approval when he tentatively begins cutting.

Ken’yuu doesn’t know the name of the soup he’s just finished making, but he knows it smells good. It makes his stomach growl, reminds him that it’s lunchtime and he should eat, but it also reminds him that it’s time for _Homura_ to eat—that he can’t even think about finding food without getting Homura’s lunch ready. Hwang surprises him by showing him how to arrange a bowl of the soup and some bread and some fish on a tray, where to put the spoon and the napkin and the glass, and then telling him that it’s time to serve Homura his meal.

He’s nervous and excited—knows that he can get fired or punished if he fails this test, simply because everyone believes that Homura is a god. (He doesn’t think so, and he’s pretty sure Homura doesn’t think so, but the only thing that matters is that the rest of the people do.) He also knows that he can’t fail, has always been good, if not great, at anything he’s tried, but you can never tell with Homura. Ken’yuu has seen him make things difficult for people, claims that he’s making them stronger through trial.

He picks up the heavy tray, manages to stop the minute shaking in his hands, walks slightly ahead of Hwang towards Homura’s private dining room. Under her sharp-eyed scrutiny, he places the tray on the table, sets out everything in front of Homura before picking up the tray again. He holds it like a shield as he watches Homura take his first sip, irrationally remembers the look in his eyes when he’d stabbed an already-dead man, just to be on the safe side. He doesn’t think Homura will throw anything at him if he doesn’t like the food, but Ken’yuu steels himself to dodge anyway. Avoiding curses and objects hurled at him by the villagers was good practice.

Ken’yuu relaxes more and more throughout the meal. Homura finishes eating without saying anything. When he’s done, Ken’yuu puts everything back on the tray. Hwang’s stayed behind for the whole thing, and she walks with him to the kitchens. She gives him another curt not, says, “Good job.”

Ken’yuu barely manages to reply, “Of course.”

* * *

[ _13 years old_ ]

By now, Houmei knows enough not to ask Ken’yuu about the bruises that he sees sometimes. Ken’yuu is thankful for his friend’s tact, but a small part of him wishes that Houmei would ask.

* * *

[ _15 years old_ ]

Ukoku tries to turn around, to see Homura and glare at him, but the grip on his neck is unbreakable. Right now, he’s the angriest he’s ever been with Homura. Koumyou’s different from everybody else, thinks differently, acts differently. He’s the first person that Ukoku wants to pick apart, but can’t. He doesn’t care that Ukoku’s an outcast everyone tries to avoid if they can help it. And now Ukoku doesn’t know where Koumyou is, if he’s okay and safe or hurt and scared.

“You didn’t even like him.” Homura’s hold tightens just a bit more; instead of just being held down, it’s starting to hurt. There’s no way Ukoku can get free. “Not really. You just liked the idea of rebelling, of breaking the rules.”

Ukoku tries to deny what Homura’s saying, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He can feel his heart pounding in his throat and Homura’s weight pressed against his back. Ukoku takes a breath and chokes out, “Koumyou—”

Homura squeezes tighter. “I just remembered—he was the one who gave you your new name. And you gave him his.” Homura’s free hand trails up Ukoku’s thigh, up the back of his shirt, fingers cold against his skin. “At first I thought it was stupid. But I’ve gotten used to it. It’s a bit of a mouthful, but it grows on you.”

It isn’t the first night Homura visits his room since he’s taken a new name, but it’s the first time Homura says it while they’re doing it. He says it like he’s testing out its shape on his tongue, rolling around the vowels, drawing out the end on a groan.

After spending five years in the Xuanling compound, few things bother Ukoku anymore. But hearing his name, whispered in the dark with a voice that’s not Koumyou’s, it feels wrong. He doesn’t fight back, hasn’t for a long time, but he buries his face in the pillow and tries to block out everything that Homura’s saying.

After that, Ukoku starts calling himself Nii.

* * *

[ _10 years old_ ]

Behind Ken’yuu, Homura stands with his back pressed against the wall. There’s blood on his cheek from a shallow cut under one eye. Ken’yuu stands between him and the man slowly bleeding to death on the floor, clutching a small knife, both of his small hands shaking and wrapped around the hilt. Beside the man, there’s a longer and sharper knife.

He knows he should ask Homura if he’s all right, but nothing comes out of him except heavy panting. He feels like his knees are about to give out and he feels like throwing up. But he can’t tear his eyes away from the man in front of them, the man that had tried to rip Homura’s eyes out just a few seconds ago. The man that Ken’yuu had stabbed in the neck.

Ken’yuu jerks back at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, barely avoids an instinctive slash at Homura. He takes another step back when he sees Homura’s face in the moonlight spilling into the room from the open window—he looks completely calm, even with the trail of blood slowly making its way down to his chin. It’s his eyes that scare Ken’yuu. The fury in their depths makes the hair on the back of Ken’yuu’s neck stand up.

“Step aside,” Homura says. Ken’yuu quickly moves over, watches in morbid fascination as Homura kicks the man over onto his back and crouches down beside him to pick up the knife that had been inches away from his own eye. Ken’yuu flinches when he plunges it into the man’s chest with enough force that it’s buried to the hilt. “Just to be sure,” he says when he stands up.

The next morning, when Ken’yuu goes into the kitchen to get Homura’s breakfast, he overhears the staff talking about them, about how two boys barely into their tenth summer managed to overpower and kill an assassin.

“I’m not surprised,” one cook says. “That ruffian that the young master picked up—he’s an ill omen.” Ken’yuu’s heard that often enough that he doesn’t even pause as he picks up his tray.

That afternoon, people start calling Homura the reincarnation of the heavenly war prince.

* * *

[ _12 years old_ ]

“Be quiet.” Homura’s hand is clamped over his mouth, his face just inches away from Ken’yuu’s.

Ken’yuu tries to calm down, tries to slow down his breathing, tries to pretend that his eyes aren’t wide open and scared behind his eyeglasses. In the dark in a linen closet in some hallway in Homura’s private wing, pretending that he’s not about to wet himself in fear is getting harder and harder.

“Relax,” Homura says, voice even and soft, barely loud enough for Ken’yuu to hear, let alone anyone passing by outside. “I just wanted to try out this new game I learned today.”

In the dark in the linen closet, a hand makes its way down the back of Ken’yuu’s pants. He feels Homura fit one of his legs between his, pinning him to the wall. The hand on his mouth presses hard enough that it feels like he’ll have splinters in the back of his head when this is all over. His heart beats faster and faster, like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

“I didn’t enjoy it that much when I was playing your part.” Mouth near Ken’yuu’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “I like it this way better.”

Every horrible thing that he’s ever tried to avoid in the outside world, it feels like all of them are happening to him right now. He remembers seeing these women (and sometimes they were just girls, sometimes he’d see boys) and wondering how they could bring themselves to let people use them like this. In the dark, Ken’yuu gains a new respect for their strength to live through this same thing over and over again, thinks that at least they get paid when it’s all over.

* * *

[ _10 years old_ ]

Ken’yuu looks around the room and tries not to be impressed. He fails miserably. The room he’s waiting in is so large that it could probably comfortably house five families of four. Everything’s ruthlessly clean and shiny, the wood and the vases and even the frame of the tapestry along one wall.

He knows enough to realize that he’s inside the Xuanling family compound, had probably strayed into their lands last night when he was trying to get away. He doesn’t think he’s in trouble; if he were, he’d be in a lot of pain right now, somewhere cold and dark, not relatively warm and unhurt in a brightly lit room.

The servant standing near the door, he keeps glancing outside into the hallway. He doesn’t look like he’s scared, just impatient. He’s practically ignoring Ken’yuu sitting in the middle of the room, hadn’t even given him a pillow to rest on. Ken’yuu ignores him as well, eyes still taking in all of the decorations and details in his surroundings.

“Is this him?”

Ken’yuu looks back at the servant again, barely contains a snort when he sees the man bowing low enough that his ugly wig has actually fallen off of his head.

There’s a boy around his age standing in the doorway. He’s got dark hair and he’s wearing the most expensive and ornate clothes that Ken’yuu has ever seen. But the thing that really gets Ken’yuu’s attention is the fact that the boy’s eyes are different colors. The left one was blue, but the right one was as gold as the embroidery that lined the edges of his sleeves and neckline.

“Yes, my lord.” Ken’yuu is slightly surprised that the servant’s nose isn’t scraping the floor by now.

The boy grins at Ken’yuu, sharp and mischievous, and says, “You look different when you’re clean.”

Ken’yuu keeps quiet, eyes narrowed and suspicious. The whole thing, it feels wrong and dangerous. It feels like he’s walked into a trap, like he’s been backed into a corner. He thinks about making a run for it, but there are other voices in the hallway, now. The entire place is probably crawling with servants.

The boy tilts his head to one side. “I think I’ll keep him.”

* * *

[ _14 years old_ ]

Her name is Rinrei, and she is the only thing that makes Ukoku’s life worth living.

Not that he’s _in love_ with her or anything, no way. It’s just that ever since she arrived at the compound, a peasant girl sold into servitude by her family to pay off their debts, Homura’s pretty much left Ukoku alone.

The way that Homura looks at her, Ukoku’s never seen him looking like that at anyone else. Homura’s eyes are soft and his smile is warm and he touches her like she’ll break apart if he’s not careful. What Rinrei is, she’s probably Homura’s first love. She’s the reason why Ukoku can finally sleep throughout a night without staying up and waiting for the quiet hiss of the door sliding open. She’s the reason why he can go off and hang out with Koumyou without wondering if he’s going to get into trouble for leaving Homura’s side.

“You seem happier lately,” Koumyou notes. They’re carrying buckets of clean water back towards the kitchen. Ukoku had yet another free afternoon, and he’d decided to help Koumyou out with his duties.

“Do I?” Ukoku slows down a bit, doesn’t really want to be around other people so soon. That and his bucket is actually kind of heavy and he doesn’t want to spill anything and have to refill it. “I haven’t really noticed.”

“Really.” The way Koumyou says it, it’s a question and not a question at the same time. He looks at Ukoku out of the corner of his eye, slows down too so that they’re walking side by side.

Ukoku tries to shrug, gives up because he needs both hands on the bucket’s handle. “Homura doesn’t need me as much lately.” It’s the closest they’ve ever come to talking about what happens at night (sometimes during the day, too) behind Ukoku’s bedroom door. Ukoku doesn’t know how he feels right now, if he wants the conversation to go on or not.

Koumyou doesn’t say anything else after that, but he bumps his shoulder against Ukoku’s gently.

The days turn into weeks.

What Rinrei is, she’s a girl who came from a peasant family and Yu Huang doesn’t even try hiding his disapproval for her relationship with Homura. The way his entire face wrinkles up when he sees Homura talking to her, you’d think he was looking at something rotting just a few inches away from his face.

Ukoku doesn’t see it happen, but he hears the other servants gossiping about it, about how Yu Huang tells Homura to stay away from Rinrei. Ukoku doesn’t see it happen, but he sees Rinrei quiet and subdued as she goes around the compound, completely different from her usual cheerful self. He sees Homura grow colder and sharper and angrier, and thanks all the deities he doesn’t believe in that Homura still doesn’t go to Ukoku’s room at night.

As far as Ukoku can tell, Yu Huang hasn’t done anything to make sure that his orders are followed: Rinrei isn’t sent off to the branch house, and Homura can still go anywhere he pleases within the compound. They can still see each other in the halls, and he’s pretty sure that Homura can still sneak off to Rinrei’s room after dark. But the way Rinrei mopes and drags her feet and stares quietly into the distance, you’d think Homura had died.

It’s sad how Rinrei apparently has no backbone. After staying in the Xuanling household for four years, Ukoku’s seen his share of servants come and go. Most of them hadn’t been able to handle the family, the harsh punishments, the being treated like something not even worth disgust. But it’s the first time he’s seen anyone fold so quickly and over so little, and he idly wonders if Rinrei would be dramatic enough to kill herself over her forbidden love.

Ukoku walks in on two women insulting Rinrei. He’s barely one step inside the room when he realizes that Rinrei’s actually right there in from of them, and they’re talking directly to her. The women he vaguely recognizes as being assigned to take care of the linens. Rinrei looks like she’s trying not to cry.

One of the women says, “Who do you think you are? How dare you try to sully the young master!”

“He’s the reincarnation of a god!” the other one says, hands clenched at her sides. “You don’t even have the right to look directly at him!”

Ukoku watches the entire scene unfold, standing unnoticed in the doorway. He watches Rinrei trembling as she wraps her arms around herself, eyes trained on the floor as she’s verbally abused. It’s sad, almost pathetic, the way she doesn’t do anything to defend herself or Homura.

The difference between him and Rinrei is that he doesn’t care what about people say or think about him. He just files everything away for later, finds small ways to get his revenge.

One day, Rinrei asks Ukoku if they can talk. Ukoku’s on his way to meet Koumyou and he doesn’t want to waste time with her, but they’re in the middle of the hall and she looks like she’ll burst into tears if he doesn’t agree. He doesn’t care about making a scene, but he does care what Homura will do if he finds out and assumes the worst.

Rinrei says, “I just want to talk.” She knows that Ukoku is Homura’s personal retainer, is probably the person who spends the most time with him. She asks him about how Homura spends his day, what his duties are, says that she wants to understand him more because he never tells her anything about his role as the reincarnation of the war prince. It must be so hard being so young and having so much responsibility. She says she wants to understand so that she can find some way to help ease his burden.

Ukoku squints at her, wonders if it’s actually possible for someone to be so dense. Homura’s “duties” are to be on display when his uncle wants to parade him in front of visiting lords and other rich people, and to listen to complaints that Yu Huang can’t be bothered to attend to even if it’s his job as lord of the region. To stay in the compound so that everyone in it can keep an eye on him, to use his “godhood” to scare neighboring towns and villages and the people in their own.

After spending so much time with him, Ukoku finds it hard to believe that Rinrei hasn’t realized that Homura is probably even more trapped than either of them will ever be. He doesn’t say any of that to Rinrei, pretends to think carefully about a response as she waits. He’s saved when one of the senior maids calls for Rinrei, voice sharp and annoyed.

Since then, Rinrei seems to think that she and Ukoku are friends. She keeps intruding on his time with Koumyou, and while Koumyou doesn’t mind, Ukoku is another story. Anything that comes out of her mouth, it’s probably about Homura. About how sad she is that they can’t see one another anymore, about how much she misses him. Ukoku zones out whenever she talks; if he doesn’t, he thinks he’ll throw up.

Ukoku’s pretty sure that Homura doesn’t know about their “friendship,” or at least, he’s not doing anything about it. Part of him wishes that Homura would tell him to stay away from Rinrei—at least he’d have an excuse to avoid her.

During an important dinner with guests from all over the region, Ukoku watches as Rinrei loses her grip on the large tray of food she was carrying, spilling sliced fruits all over the floor and breaking dishes. From his spot beside Homura’s screen, he watches Yu Huang berate her while she stammers apologies and tries to clean up the mess. Most of the guests are also watching, slightly amused. Ukoku feels the same way.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Homura’s hands close into fists. There, behind the screen, in the corner to the right of Yu Huang’s seat, Homura’s entire body tenses, but he doesn’t stand up. He doesn’t say anything or do anything.

Her name is Rinrei, and Ukoku doesn’t mind when she’s forced to leave.

* * *

[ _13 years old_ ]

Running away from the compound, Ken’yuu tries to convince himself that he’s got the advantage; he’s got a pair of eyeglasses and it’s not raining, and he doesn’t trip over every root that’s sticking up in the path in front of him. But the air is cold with the threat of snow, and Homura is way more familiar with the forest than Ken’yuu will ever be.

When Homura finally catches up, he almost gives Ken’yuu a heart attack. A hand snakes out from between two trees and grabs Ken’yuu’s arm, fingers closing tightly enough to bruise him. In the moonlight, standing in the shadows, the only part of Homura’s face that Ken’yuu can see is his gold eye. Ken’yuu doesn’t bother trying to break away, not when he can hear the sound of men’s voices and footsteps drawing closer and closer.

When they’re back at the compound, back behind the locked door of Homura’s bedroom, Ken’yuu thinks about Bunny as he keeps his eyes screwed shut. He thinks about actually having eyeglasses (and with the proper prescription), having three meals a day, clean water for drinking and bathing. He counts the seconds in between the grinding of hips against his skin, curls his fingers in the sheets, concentrates on breathing in and out.

* * *

[ _16 years old_ ]

It’s been one year since Nii last saw Koumyou.

The image of Koumyou’s face in Nii’s mind isn’t clear anymore. He can’t remember how long Koumyou’s hair was, if he kept it in a ponytail or a braid. He can’t remember which way Koumyou’s mouth tilted when he smiled, or what his voice sounded like. He still doesn’t know how Homura got rid of Koumyou, still doesn’t know where he is or how he is.

It’s been two years since Nii made a bet against Koumyou. It doesn’t bother him much anymore.


End file.
